


Cupcake

by BitterTongue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24234046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterTongue/pseuds/BitterTongue
Summary: All it takes is time and cupcakes
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 9





	Cupcake

**Author's Note:**

> For more up to date fic posts check out my tumblr Cordytriestowrite

Cupcakes. You had awoken well into the night with the urge to bake cupcakes. This wasn't the first time you had shot up from a dead sleep with a rapid heartbeat and the need to whip up something sweet for the others to rise to. Sam said it was your way of processing everything post snap and as you pulled yourself out of bed and slipped into your slippers you thought about just how ridiculous that sounded.  
No one else was awake, though there weren't many of you anymore. Your sleepy shuffle brought you past what had been Wanda's room up until two days ago when she had solemnly packed her bags and bid you farewell. You used to hear her around this time, gut wrenching sobs that would make you rush past her door lest you break down with your own despair. You still hurried to pass her open door and empty room. Your heart still squeezed with her sadness.   
The other doors were closed, as they always were at this time. You didn't know if the people behind them were asleep or awake but you compiled your ingredients as quietly as possible. Mixing bowls and pans you found easily by the light of the open refrigerator. Measuring spoons and cups sat clean in the sink, never put back to their shelf after you had made a bit too much noise bringing them down the first time.   
Eggs, milk, flour, sugar, and then a debate of flavor: strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, pumpkin? This was the part that didn't make sense to you when Sam said you used this time to process grief. Your thoughts never strayed to the five years you missed and if your mind ever even tried to dwell on Tony or Nat or Steve-  
Pumpkin, you resolved with a firm nod. Pumpkin was in season and with the distinct lack of seasonal cheer within the house the smell of pumpkin cupcakes in the early dawn could be perfect.   
Cream cheese frosting too. Sprinkles perhaps, if you had any appropriately colored sprinkles. You could feel a bloom of energy open below your breastbone and flutter like wings at the base of your throat tickling you to smile.  
You followed no recipe, having done this so many times now the ratios came naturally to you. You dipped a clean finger into the batter, curious to taste the pumpkin flavor and spontaneous pinch of cinnamon. Just as your lips were to close upon your batter covered digit you noticed a glint of metal in the weak light of the still open refrigerator door. Your body involuntarily spasmed with surprise, sending your finger across your cheek instead of into your mouth. Instinct brought your other hand to your hip to grab a weapon that wasn't there.   
The overhead light flicked on and your eyes clenched closed at the onslaught. It felt wrong to have the room so bright at this hour and once you took in the intruder you plunged both of you into darkness once more.   
"Jesus, Bucky, you scared the shit outta me."  
Your words came out as a whisper as your eyes darted in the direction of the closed doors, except you couldn't see them in the dimness.   
Bucky was silent, his chin rested heavily in his metal palm. He looked tired, which made sense due to the hour, but it didn't look like he planned to move from the stool he now occupied on the other side of the counter. You shrugged and turned away wiping desperately at your face, then pouring the batter into tins once you were sure your cheek was batter-free.   
The process went all too quickly from there. As you slid the pan into the oven you felt a sudden drop in mood. Eighteen minutes you would have to wait for the runny batter to rise and thicken into a dense, moist cupcake. Eighteen minutes you would sit in silence and watch the clock, counting the seconds in your head as if you and the digital clock on the oven were competing for best capture of each minute. It was either that or falling asleep in the silence of the still hour and subsequently burning down the only home you had.   
You turned around, intending to sit yourself on a stool and begin your competitive time-keeping only to be suddenly reminded there was someone else in the room with you. Bucky had not moved an inch since you had acknowledged him. His bright blue eyes pierced through the darkness with an unsettling alertness and you shivered at the vulnerability he had thrust upon you. The hand that had shot to your chest was resting over a decelerating heartbeat. There was something instinctively you still feared about Bucky due to the lack of time you'd spent with him. It was in his eyes, you thought, or maybe the slight frown his lips came to rest in naturally. Maybe it was all in your head, your mind unable to separate the man before you with the Winter Soldier of HYDRA.   
Time did not stop even if you had your back turned to it. The stare that had you locked in place allowed you passage as Bucky glanced to the clock behind you. Your breath came out long and heavy and your lips tingled in gratitude at the influx of oxygen. Looking at the ground you crossed kitchen and around the counter to the stool beside him. Lips mimed the counting of seconds.  
"How long?"  
You lost count and the question sounded too loud in your ears. You glanced over to Bucky and quickly turned back to stare ahead, fidgeting in your seat as another sensation of unease rolled down your spine.   
"Seventeen more minutes."  
It was too long. Too long to be spending with the man next to you. You swallowed and drummed your fingers against the counter. This minute was lost to you and you would have to wait for the next one to start counting again. The muscles in your neck cried for movement but you didn't dare spare yourself to turn your head in his direction.   
You wondered if Bucky knew you were afraid of him, if he knew how your body filled with adrenaline at his very presence. You wondered how it made him feel, if he cared at all. After so many sleepless nights alone in the kitchen you could not come to any conclusion as to why he was here with you this time. Unless you had made too much noise.  
"Sorry if I woke you."  
Your voice cracked. In your attempt to keep your voice low you had lost it all together. Despite this Bucky seemed to have caught the essence of your statement. You allowed yourself a quick glance of him. With his head down and eyes averted you felt safe to actually observe him.  
His hair was short now making him look more handsome than feral. His strong jaw was on display to you now, clean shaven and marking an appealing path to his cleft chin and pouty lips. Bucky's profile sent a jolt through your system of a different kind, one that warmed you from belly to cheeks. He turned his unreadable eyes to you and that warmth abruptly faded.   
"Spent too long sleepin' anyway."  
He might not have meant for the words to sound so ominous but the weight of them brought a cold sweat to your brow. The urge was there to comfort him, to wrap your arms around him and feel something from him other than wave after wave of detachment and disinterest. You stood slowly and like an out of body experience you felt you had no control over your actions. You watched your feet hit the floor between you and bring you ever closer to Bucky Barnes and in a last minute shuffle felt your mind gain back control.  
"Want to help me make the frosting?"  
Your voice was too loud again, the words said by you but not the way you intended. You were going to say 'I should make the frosting' with no 'we' involved.   
Bucky's eyebrows rose and with it the veil of intimidation. His eyes seemed brighter now that they weren't hidden under furrowed brows and the way his mouth parted in what could only be disbelief let the hard lines around his lips relax. With a single question he seemed younger and, with a sigh of relief on your end, less terrifying. The kitchen had shifted on its axis with both of you trying to right yourselves and adapt to its new position and maybe that's why Bucky decided to shift it all again and throw you both back to the ground.  
"Sure."  
He's off his stool, standing in the not-enough-space-for-the-two-of-you spot you were already occupying. Your chests were brushing, breaths mingling, eyes glancing then looking away again. You had no control and Bucky's eyes were so different now. So open and blue with a hint of astonishment pushing through anguish and anger. And those eyes, when they landed on you, it's like they were seeing you for the first time. It was all too much, making your breath swell in your chest like a balloon on the verge of bursting and you were afraid the loud pop of it would wake the house.   
"Ten minutes."  
Air rushed from your lungs with Bucky's words and suddenly you felt very empty and stretched with exhaustion. You let out an undignified noise of confused to which Bucky reacted in a way so uncharacteristic of him your jaw would have dropped if it wasn't cradled in his hand.   
He was pointing your chin in the direction of the clock set into the stove. Ten minutes until the cupcakes were done. So much had changed in seven minutes making you momentarily suspicious that the clock had stopped. Nine minutes and everything was real again, including the fingers against your skin. You wanted to look at him, to see his expression and let him see yours, wanting him to see the confusion written on your face and receive an answer to how you had gotten to this point in seven minutes. Instead you kept your eyes trained on the clock and counted down another minute.  
"We should get started."  
You could hear the humor in his voice, a foreign lilt to your ears but a welcome song nonetheless. You smiled and nodded loosening what little grip he had on you. He moved away first and rounded the counter, standing to the side of it and allowing you to walk before him and take the lead. You tactically removed a mixing bowl from the crowded cupboard and grouped your ingredients to the side of it.   
You were used to working in silence and not so much used to giving instructions so you measured and dumped ingredients in without explanation, but Bucky didn't seem to need any. He stirred the contents of the bowl as you added more to it, working in a silent but effective tandem to create the smooth and fluffy frosting. With Bucky left to his mixing you glanced at the clock and excitedly donned the oven mits. You thought you might've heard a soft exhale of air behind you but paid it no mind as you opened the oven door.  
The scent of pumpkin wafted in swells of heat and you breathed in deeply as you pricked the top of a few cakes with a toothpick which came out clean each time. With pan in hand you closed the door to the oven and turned it off, then set the pan on the stovetop. Smiling you turned to your unexpected, but not unwelcome, baking companion.  
"Those will need to cool before we can- fingers out of the batter mister!"  
Too loud, too demanding, too playful. If you could you would catch those words on your fingers and pop them back into your mouth the way Bucky was doing the frosting. His eyes were wide again and hopelessly blue but streaked with deviousness and guilt giving them a dimension you had never seen. His index finger pulled from his lips to give you a knee-weakening smile.   
"Sorry. Couldn't help myself."  
He sounded anything but sorry. The smirk on his lips and the way his tongue darted out to gather a bit of frosting smeared across his bottom lip told you it wasn't safe to turn away from him again. You were afraid of him, but not for the reasons you were before. This wasn't the Winter Soldier who stared at you with empty eyes somehow seeing you and seeing through you. This was Bucky, the Bucky your Captain used to talk about, who flirts with all the dames and drags you on vomit inducing rollercoasters and is with you 'til the end of the line. He was there this whole time, under months of grief and mourning he was there, uncovered in only seventeen minutes, and you felt like a fool for not finding him sooner.  
You felt it in your throat first. The bulge of a sob against your larynx that traveled up and out of your quivering lips. Too loud. Bucky was in front of your before the tears could spill so when they started to his thumbs were in place to wipe them away. Too loud. You were wailing like a lonely spirit, like you were watching it all over again on the battlefield, like the weight of your loss had finally slammed against your heart and cut it up, leaving it hurt and bleeding and expected to still beat.   
"I'm sorry, Bucky. I'm so sorry I didn't see you before."  
He was shushing you, holding you. His heart torn and bleeding with yours. You could feel it in the way his chest convulsed with the sobs he was managing to keep at bay.   
"I miss them so much. I've missed so much."  
Bucky guided your head to his shoulder but it was too late.  
Too loud. Too bright. You weren't just wrapped in one pair of arms anymore. You couldn't see with your face buried in Bucky's shoulder but you could feel them holding you tight, sniffling, whispering.   
"Let it all out." Sam's voice cut through it all.  
"You're finally letting it all out."  
There was no clock to tell you how long you all stood together, no room in your brain to count the seconds. It was lighter outside and brighter inside, noises weren't too loud and voices weren't lowered. Your cheek rested against the tear soaked fabric covering Bucky's shoulder; he was the only one who hadn't drawn away from you yet. With tired eyes you watched Bruce pluck the edge of a cupcake liner in his large green forefinger and thumb. With his one good hand he maneuvers the cupcake upside down and proceeds to dip it into the bowl of frosting. You let out an indignant squeal as he raises it back up messy and dripping. A soft chuckle flutters the hair above your ear while a gentle palm stokes the back of your head.  
"That's not how the frosting - oh forget it."  
Arms squeezing a little tighter around Bucky's waist you rest your chin on his cold, wet shoulder, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and begin to count the seconds that you began to feel okay again. You knew you'd lose count soon enough, especially when you could feel the man wrapped around you extend a hand to dip into the mixing bowl again.  
"Bucky, don't you dare!"


End file.
